Think Positive by Clive Martyn

The start of the end had been a self-help book, “Positivity”. It was written by Dr James, a former psychologist, now a second-rate TV host. She couldn’t remember which page it had been, 87 or 88, but somewhere in the middle of the lightweight tome it talked about “positive reflection”.

“List all the positive things in your life” it had said.

She had thought for an hour, twirling the whispers of grey in her hair, whilst Finn the cat purred on her lap. Slowly her thoughts became more and more desperate, flitting from one negative memory to the next disaster. She relived every mistake, every problem, searching for something, anything; chewing her pen frantically and staring at the blank piece of paper.

She could not name a single thing. Not a goddamn, single positive thing.

Uncomfortable, distraught, she shifted her overweight backside on the broken sofa, put down the pen and paper and stared up at the peeling paint for another hour.

Why was her life so shitty?

The tears came back. Then the anger. She picked up the phone, thinking to phone her sponsor, her lifeline, but Alice was off the wagon and AWOL.

Frustrated, she stupidly threw the handset as hard as she could; aiming at the wall but instead breaking the TV.

As the glass tinkled down onto the lounge floor, she screamed. Loud enough to make the crazy old man next door bang on the wall and Finn run for the bedroom.

She stood up, looking for more things to break. The book. She tore page after page from it, breathing heavily.

There was a picture of Dr James, smiling inanely from the back cover. Hatred filled every vein in her body and her heart pounded in time with a pressure building in her head.

She spat on the picture, then ground it under her foot.

Easy for him to say. Easy for him in his Malibu mansion, with his perfect life, perfect wife no doubt. Easy for him to make a fortune from this crap. Easy for him to be positive.

She screamed again, clawing at her temples. She needed a drink.

Then a quiet, serious voice inside her head said “Or a gun.”

 …

Dr James lay in the middle of his garden, on a sun lounger, looking at the empty house. The repo guys had left him a bottle of whiskey, which he was slowly demolishing. He wished his ex-wife had been as generous.

He couldn’t stop crying, sobbing, thinking of everything that had gone wrong, every failure, every mistake he had made.

He was finished. Bankrupt. His new book lay unfinished in the shell of a house and the publishers were ringing everyday for their advance back, whilst the TV producers had stopped ringing all together.

He looked down at the rifle, an unused gift from his hunting mad father-in-law. No doubt the old bastard would smile at the news that his son-in-law blew his head off with it. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered and picked up the rifle, nervously putting it close to his lips.

The metal tasted strange, alien.

”Come on,” he thought, trying to get enough courage to pull the trigger.

The screaming started before the first gun shot.

A woman, her fat curves packed into threadbare blue velour jogging bottoms and top was walking quickly towards him across empty flowerbeds, a gun pointed at him. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Anger, insanity was clear in her eyes, even from a distance.

He didn’t have time to think, before the first bullet caught him in the shoulder, spinning him off the lounger.

The second sliced through his left bicep and across his back.

Instinctively he swung the rifle and fired, instantly replacing her face with a mist of red blood that wavered, hung in the air, as she fell backwards into the flowerbeds.

Time slowed, as the woman convulsed violently; long before the sirens neared she was dead.

….

Ellen DeGeneres smiled at the cameras “Alright, after having the biggest book of the summer “Surviving by being positive”, his amazing story of how he survived a violent attack, it was no surprise that our next guest’s new book “More Positive Thoughts” debuted at number 1. He was nominated for an American Book Award tonight - please welcome the lovely Dr James.”

The studio clapped enthusiastically as he walked on and settled on the couch.

He smiled, lapping up the attention.

“Don’t fuck this up, loser,” he thought to himself.